In the midst of literature's vast sea, a poet’s mind is seen to sail, Its swirling tempest tethered to a softly whispered muse,
Each word seems to be a brushstroke, painting emotions, vivid and frail,
That sketches the poet’s thoughts, no spoken tongue could be of use.
Deep within the browning page, the poet’s psyche lays exposed,
A twisted labyrinth of dreams and fears that remain unbound.
Through the poet’s crafted tales, the human heart is also composed,
Its shadows are traced, and each of its silent yearnings are found.
Psychology, ‘tis the lantern in the dark,
It illuminates the ink-stained soul of the poet’s art,
Its sharp and triggering beam reveals the ever-changing spark,
And the deep, dark truths that dwell within the poet's heart.
Together, Literature and Psychology decode the poet’s soul’s disguise,
Unmasking and shattering all mirrors in a reader’s eyes.
(For context: this Sonnet draws a parallel between Literature and Psychology,
as viewed by a poet)
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